Pride of the Aisonian Eldar
by FFSuperfan
Summary: I have seen the paths of fate and the rune of unity burns strong, I will join hands with my new brothers, for my kin forsake and shun me. My duty and path has been rewritten, I will serve the Emperor. Rated M for violence in later chapters
1. Young Mind

Pride of the Aisonian Eldar

Chapter One- The Young Mind

There was only fire, it flailed and twisted across the room with a savage intensity. Whips of flame swung violently at nothing, their movement being rage incarnate. At the centre of the tumult sat a child, its arms wrapped tightly around itself. The child's mind was wracked with pain, searing pain that ate away at its soul. A single hulking form stepped forward, more bold than its comrades who stood at the edge of the living inferno. It raised its weapon, hoping to strike down the supposed cause of the fire. The child snapped its face to the attacker, eyes of burning orange opening wide with command. The tendrils of flame reacted instantly, crashing down on the threat with brutality. The enemy screamed, its arms singed to stumps and its face melting as it wailed. Now nothing but a melting metal husk, the hulking form fell to the ground with a crash, it was dead within seconds of its initial transgression. The child rose from its seated position on the floor, the burning whips coalescing behind its back. The other forms in the room raised their weapons, preparing themselves for combat. Incinerating the closest enemy, the child began its onslaught. It boiled the guts of another, easily melting through the armour encasing the enemy. Again and again the child struck out. It crippled one of the foes by slashing its left arm clean off, but it could not kill the attacker. Using the last portion of strength it had, the attacker fired a couple of shots at the child. With no armour to protect itself, the child stood no chance of survival. Pain of the body ripped its mental pain asunder, the orange in its eyes cooling to a soft yellow. Collapsing into the fresh pool of blood that was made by its wounds, the child slowly died. The fire around the room weakened, the burning whips and tendrils sagging to the floor. Unable to hold on any longer, the child took its last breath.

I awoke with a start, my nightmare fresh in my mind. I slowly twisted my body onto its side, gazing across the small expanse of my room. The dais I was lying on adjusted itself to the change in pressure, allowing fro maximum comfort. I shuffled off of it and slid on the robe that lay gently at its end. The robe was pale lavender, a signature colour of my family. House Aison was reasonably well known in this area of Ulthwe, mostly because our mother had four children in quick succession, quite a rarity. But we were also well known because of my father, may Morai-Heg guide his soul. My father had been a Bonesinger, a master among them in fact, who fell using his skills to block off a choke point during a battle. It was a surprise attack by the Orks, my father being in the town to expand it. That was over nine passes ago though; I had stopped grieving for that loss. I fastened a belt to the robe, its only adornment a knife that was I was given as a present by my eldest brother, Asadon. When I was finished dressing I walked to the edge of my room, the balcony I had extending out of the slender tower that we called home. A small area of trees surrounded the tower, no more than 10 metres or so in radius out from the tower. At its edge was a road that wrapped around it, letting it connect to another tower, linking them from circle garden to circle garden. The Towers of Myriad Honours they were called and many wealthy and honoured families lived here. Just as my thoughts ended, I heard a soft noise in my room. Having not entirely returned from my reverie, I acted instinctually. Sweeping around into a crouching pose with one leg outstretched to my right, I drew the knife on my belt. I soon recognised the intruder and stood again, but she spoke before I could apologise for assuming she was an enemy.

"Master Critus, your mother has requested that you be up." She informed me with a calm look on her face, undisturbed by my actions.

"Thank you Inayara, my apologies for threatening you." I replied. Inayara walked the Path of Service, so she was humbled and obedient. I could not understand how an Eldar could consider such a path, but I suppose we all have our ways of coping with our minds.

"It is quite alright, I did disturb you suddenly" She answered before bowing and leaving the room.

I found my mother seated serenely on a cushion in the main living area. A small ghost stone floated in front of her, pulsing with energy as she manipulated its form. Her hands twisted and weaved around the sculpting object, curves becoming lines and smooth became jagged. A lot of what my mother sculpted was violent in nature or had some rooting in fear; at least that was what she sculpted now. She took his father's death quite hard, but recovered save for the lightness in her artistic expression. I approached her slowly, still on edge from both my nightmare and the 'confrontation' I had had with Inayara in my room.

"Yes?" She asked when I came close to her, hands not stopping their work.

"You requested that I be awake, I was wondering if there was a particular reason for it." A touch of indignation crept into my voice, my calm façade failing for a second. my mother caught on immediately, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

"Yes…It was rather violent"

"All of your nightmares are violent Critus; I fear that you already thirst for blood. 18 passes old and already Khaine has ensnared you."

"I'm sorry mother"

"You know sometimes I'm glad I had Quinque." I'm a little taken aback by my mother's words, she and Quinque do not get along, which is why he is often away from home.

"Why is that?"

"Because for all of his faults, at least he didn't put himself in danger with the path he chose." She had a point; Quinque had chosen the Path of the Musician, choosing the Dream Sitar rather than the Banshee mask that my Sister Xyleria chose. Nor did he choose the Path of the Ranger that my brother Asadon had chosen after his sojourn in the shrines of the aspect warriors. I have chosen to follow my eldest siblings into the aspect shrines after I celebrate my nineteenth pass. I do not yet know which aspect I will join, but there is a rage in me that I must cleanse from my body, lest it consume me. I turn away from my mother, moving to the main door of our household.

It is still quite early in the day cycle of the Craftworld, the fake dawn tinting the rose coloured grass and even pinker shade. As soon as I exit the tower, a small wingbreezer flies down from its nest in a nearby corant tree. It tweets at me excitedly, completely tamed by its life on the Craftworld. I raise a hand to the bird and it lands deftly on it, singing its morning song. After I've walked a few paces more the bird leaves, the distance from its nest uncomfortably great.

"For a bunch of warriors, you and your family seem to enjoy the company of animals quite a bit" A lilting voice says behind me. I turn to face its source and find nothing, only another corant tree.

"Up here" the voice says again, to which I look up into the tree. There sat a young man dressed in a veritable rainbow of colours. His boots were aquamarine; the trousers tucked into them a deep maroon. Sashes of lime green weaved over his canary yellow jacket. A cap of the most fluorescent pink sat askew upon his head, a long feather made from alternating red and blue fibres jutted out from the side.

"Persevrin, must you always try and break every fashion law in existence." Persevrin was a Harlequin, or at least he liked to think so. He deftly flipped from the branch he sat on, landing with barely a sound in the grass at its base.

"Perhaps, but must you always make comment on my latest vibrant attire." He responded with an extravagant twirl, displaying his garishness in one swift movement.

"Yes, as long as you continue to hurt my eyes with it." I quipped back at him. Persevrin flicked his fingers at me, a gesture of mock indignation and annoyance. I turned to head further along the road, beckoning for Persevrin to follow.

"And where are we off to on this fine artificial day?" He jests, sweeping his arm in a gesture of surveying the landscape.

"Nowhere in particular, I simply wanted to go for a walk."

"Nonsense and all that is false! You just want go practice somewhere so your mother doesn't reprimand you for your violent nature." He announces with a cartwheel, his hands keeping in step with my feet.

"So what if I do want to practice? It is not against tradition or anything." I snap, his unnecessarily silly behaviour getting on my nerves.

"Well if you want to spar with me I'd be more than happy to trounce you." He suggests with a smirk, twirling a knife in his hand once it fell from his boot in mid-cartwheel.

"I think I'll take you up on that challenge."

We reach a deserted grove at the edge of the Towers, Persevrin sitting gleefully on a rock, juggling his knife. I remove the robe I was wearing, leaving me in a slender bodysuit, thin and flexible armour that most aspect warriors wear underneath their armour. I play with the knife in my hand, quite eager for a test of my skill. We face each other in a ceremonial position of repose, before bowing and going into fighting stances. Persevrin immediately runs at me, his knife ready to swipe at my torso. I make a defensive manoeuvre, stepping forward and ducking underneath to stab at his leg. He flips over me though, spinning when he lands to cut at my lowered body. I spy the angle of his knife and move my own to deflect it, the ring of blades resounding in the grove. He does another cartwheel, moving around to strike at my side. I manage to parry the blow at the last second. We go through another couple of passes, Persevrin dancing around me with his blade narrowly missing my skin each time. I do a sweeping kick at the ground as he tries to flip over me again, catching one of his legs as he lands. He stumbles a little from the blow, but soon recovers with a darting thrust at my chest. I lean back just in time to avoid the blow, but my actions have caused me to over-extend my body. With a clean kick at my feet, Persevrin knocks me to the ground, his knife soon finding my throat.

"And that's a cut" He says with triumph, getting off me and extending a hand to help me up. I grab it reluctantly and brush the back of my bodysuit clean of dirt.

Made sullen by my defeat at Persevrin's hands, I soon head back home to put something a bit more elaborate on, as well as to remove my bodysuit, wearing armour underneath an elaborate outfit isn't exactly comfortable. My mother is still in the main room as I return, her sculpture having taken on a little more form. My sister sits in a meditative position opposite her, a bone white leather bodysuit covering her from. She opens her eyes as I get closer, standing and moving towards me. Her emerald green eyes look me over disapprovingly; she can tell that I've been sparring. However, much to my surprise, she chooses to make no comment but instead chooses to brush past me and out the door. I ignore her temper and head back to my room. I mull over what I'm going to wear, taking into account the fact that this will be last 15 cycles of enjoyment for a while. In 15 cycles time, I'll be 19 passes old, and I'll become a warrior.


	2. Chosen Path

Pride of the Aisonian Eldar

Chapter Two-Chosen Path

I could barely contain myself, years of etiquette and manners that my mother ingrained into my psyche threatened to burst over in this one moment. It was finally time; the day had at long last reared its mighty and majestic head. Gliding down the passageway from my room to the main living area, I tried my best not to bolt into the room and exclaim my profound excitement. The archways that hung over the corridor in intervals appeared to speed past me as I almost rushed down it. I had dressed myself in a sombre grey tunic, tight grey pants clinging to my rapidly moving legs. I burst into the room with child-like excitement, my family giving me reproving looks as I practically danced towards them. Xyleria wore a white silk dress which billowed out a bit from her hips, her auburn hair tied into an ornate bun with a crystalline band. My mother had dressed plainly in a midnight blue dress, her blue-black hair tumbling down her right shoulder to rest at her breast. She got up when I neared her, an expression on her face as sombre as my chosen outfit.

"Joyous Life Anniversary my son" I could tell that the tidings were trying to be honest, but the prospect of another one of her children possibly becoming an exarch, or a ranger for that matter, saddened her deeply. I gave her a bow of thank you, my hand flickering in a position of apology for a split-second. She notices and smiles wryly; she can't really help who we are. Despite the differences between him and my mother, I notice Quinque sitting on a soft green chair at the edge of the depressed area at the centre of the circular room. I can see he's still wearing his yellow cloak that I gave him, covering parts of his muted yellow tunic and hose. He nods at me, tapping the Dream Sitar resting against his chair. Lastly I notice Persevrin raiding our food stores, using everyone's distraction upon my arrival to obtain some from of comestible. He's dressed in only two colours today, a crimson shirt and trousers, with a bright lilac coat that dragged on the floor as he saunters up to me, a half-eaten dumpkin fruit clutched lazily in his hand. I raised an eyebrow at him when he takes another bite, a single drop of fruit juice hitting the pristine white floor.

"Persevrin, continue to eat that without a plate and you'll find parts of yourself stuffed in one." Xyleria growled, apparently fountains of blood getting everywhere don't phase her, but a single drop of juice gets her blood to boiling. He gave my sister a sideways glance, finding a plate and gently placing the now almost eaten fruit upon it. He backed away from her in an exaggerated manner, holding his hands out in mock defence. I roll my eyes at him and head to the depressed area of the room, sitting as calmly as I am able in a green chair much like Quinque's. My mother and sister follow suit, sitting next to each other on a longer pale green loveseat. An awkward silence hangs among us, the meaning behind the occasion drowning out much of the happiness of me being one pass older. Xyleria, being the blunt girl that she is, breaks the silence with the most obvious question.

"So, have you decided what aspect you are going to follow?" My mother has a twinge of pain flicker in her eyes, talking about this when we are supposed to be celebrating isn't exactly good.

"Yes…but I think it best to start on a happier note don't you" I say after a few seconds of thinking.

"If it's happy you want, then I think Quinque and I better start tonight's entertainment." Persevrin pipes up, producing a few brightly coloured sticks from his cloak. Quinque sighs and picks up his Sitar, tuning it quickly before strumming it a few times.

"Persevrin, it's the middle of the day" He says with a sigh.

"That's beside the point" he proclaims loudly, twirling the sticks in one hand. He activates them with a thought command, the colours mixing and vibrating up and down the shaft of the sticks. With a theatrical flick of his wrist he sends the sticks into the air, catching them in one hand and spinning them to land on the other.

"So gather round and I'll tell you tale, one that's quite dark and desolate. But remember to go before the show otherwise you'll get quite desperate. Let me begin as you always should and that's right at the start. For it defeats the purpose of the tale to mess with its art." And so he told us a story that he'd learnt from one of the Harlequins, a story of the pain of an Eldar hero who fought against his own family. I loved the contrast of his comical performance and the tragic tale. He did say it was supposed to make me happy though and I wasn't feeling all that much better once I really got to thinking about the story. We laughed and talked for another few hours, trying to ignore the thing that sat the back of everyone's mind. But we couldn't ignore it forever and sooner or later I had to face what needed to be done.

Starting up a skyrunner, I left my home for one of the aspect shrines. The slender vehicle darted up into the air with my command, readjusting it engines to a microscopic degree when it reached the right altitude. I listed to the right or left as I passed each tower, glimpsing occupants through balconies. Some argued with each other and some laughed with each other, all of their moments coalescing into a mosaic of fragmented lives, some interweaving and connecting, others never even touching. I swerved onto the Path of Wayward Dreams, adjusting my course and altitude to fit into one of the organised transport lanes. Drifting along, I had a chance to really think about where this path might take me. Not that I hadn't done so before, but the sobering process of flying to the place were warriors trained to kill still got me thinking. The fates that awaited me were manifold; I could die as a warrior, become an Exarch, or leave the path free of my anger. Or I could choose another aspect and continue the bloody path I had chosen. I knew that one of those things would never occur, could never occur. I would not become an Exarch; I would not let battle be my only solace in a world of fire and hate. The skyrunner hummed to a stop as I reached my destination, the shrine of the Infernal Cadence. Slowly, I got off the skyrunner and sent it away, breathing deeply as I edged towards the entrance of the shrine. A simple white doorway was all that separated me from my path; perhaps it was enough to deter me. Taking one last deep breath and steeling myself, I opened the door.

The air felt oppressive inside the shrine, it clung to my skin and made it itch like it was held close to a flame. I could see only metal, walls bordered me in all directions. Is this a trick? Have I been bared entrance to the shrine? I glided up to the wall in front of me, opposite the door of the shrine. I let my fingers run over the coarse metal; it was built of material that the Eldar did not use. A hole in the wall caught my eye, a blast hole the size of my fist. The metal around it was warped and twisted, like it had folded away and melted as the blast hit whatever the metal in this wall once belonged to. A grating sound made me jump, snatching my hand away from the hole. The wall begun to slide, revealing the space beyond it. I squeezed through the rapidly growing gap in the wall, only to be met by others blocking my path. I turned to go in a direction now available to me, grating and scraping accompanying me as I walked along the rough floor. Soon I figured out that the walls were not made all of the same material or by all the same people. An Imperial symbol glinted slightly from the light in my waystone, the living gem growing brighter as I delved deeper. A star with eight points jutted out from one wall, causing me to duck as it swept past me. This place was a maze, an ever-changing labyrinth of iron and steel and whatever else that made me twist and turn and go back on myself countless times. As I floundered within that endless maze more and more, my fear of being trapped grew in equal measure. The spike of a construct's armour made me roll, only to have and identical spike slide towards my feet. I jumped just in time to dodge the bloodied ornament, praying that the blood was not of an Eldar. At last I saw a light glint at me from a distance, an orange glow that beckoned me. I ran towards it, diving as a wall threatened to close off my access to it. I felt the wall brush my toe as I landed with a thud, meeting the floor in an ungraceful manner. I heard the sound of air being cut and twisted my head to see a set of blades moving towards me, housed within the recesses of a wall. I ran towards the light, hoping to reach it before the blades reached me. When I reached the glow, disappointment sunk into my heart. It was not an exit nor was it an entrance, simply a fire that burned from the only Eldar structure within the shrine. If this was not the end of this mind-draining labyrinth, what end was there? I frantically looked around for another way through, but I was enclosed on all sides, the distraction of the fire meant I did not notice the walls moving to trap me, locked within an iron cage.

I heard a rustle behind me, one that sounded like cloth, but what is cloth in a world of steel? I spun to see an Eldar warrior, leaning against part of the scorched chassis of a Leman Russ. The warrior wore an orange bodysuit, a shawl of a lighter shade clinging to her waist. Her long hair was an ashen grey and her weathered features spoke of age. What scared me the most about her though, were the crimson red eyes that looked at me like I was no more than meat, a sacrifice to be brought to battle.

"I am Exarch Myuria" She said, her voice echoing in the small chamber.

"I am Critus" I reply, bowing to the Exarch to show respect and submission.

"Why do you fumble through my shrine, do you desire Khaine's gift?" She inquired with a measured tone; she has done this countless times before it seems. I hesitate to reply, is the rage I feel a gift?

"Or do you seek freedom from Khaine's curse?" She offers, knowing the reason for my hesitation.

"Yes, I wish to be rid of my rage" She laughs coldly at this, pushing herself off of the wall and sauntering up to me.

"Our rage is not something that can be removed or forgotten, it can only be controlled" I gulp as she brings herself close to me, her breath fiery in a way.

"Then teach me to control it" I manage to croak, her closeness somehow causing me to sweat.

"Very well, I will show you how to don and remove your war-mask, you will learn how to become a killer without remorse, so that your soul might find peace" I nod, kneeling before my Exarch. She barely gives me a glance as she walks to one of the walls, passing her hand over an Eldar rune embedded in it. The rune glows with a deep red light and the wall begins to move. Beyond it I see a swirling dark portal, the way into the inner sanctum of the shrine. Myuria gives me an impatient look as she turns towards it, gliding past the opened wall. I quickly get up and follow her, hoping the wall doesn't close in my face.

"When do we begin my training" I ask her when I catch up to her.

"Tomorrow, welcome, Fire Dragon of the Shrine of the Infernal Cadence."


End file.
